The Girl Crusoes: A Story of the South Seas

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: "THE GIRLS LOOKED DOWN WITH A SORT OF AWED CURIOSITY."_See page_ 224.]

  THE GIRL CRUSOES

  _A STORY OF THE SOUTH SEAS_

  BY

  MRS. HERBERT STRANG

  _ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR BY N. TENISON_

  LONDON

  HENRY FROWDE

  HODDER AND STOUGHTON

  1912

  RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,

  BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, U.S.,

  AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER THE FIRST

  TOMMY AND THE OTHERS

  CHAPTER THE SECOND

  UNCLE BEN

  CHAPTER THE THIRD

  LEAVING HOME

  CHAPTER THE FOURTH

  ABOARD THE _ELIZABETH_

  CHAPTER THE FIFTH

  A MIDNIGHT WRECK

  CHAPTER THE SIXTH

  THE ISLAND BEAUTIFUL

  CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

  A LOCAL HABITATION

  CHAPTER THE EIGHTH

  THE FISHERS

  CHAPTER THE NINTH

  THE LITTLE BROWN FACE

  CHAPTER THE TENTH

  ANXIOUS DAYS

  CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

  A TROPICAL STORM

  CHAPTER THE TWELFTH

  ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES

  CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

  LOST

  CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH

  IN THE PIT

  CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH

  THE ELEVENTH HOUR

  CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH

  NEW TERRORS

  CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

  THE FOUNDLING

  CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH

  ANOTHER BROWN FACE

  CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH

  THE SHARK

  CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH

  THE PRISONER IN THE CAVE

  CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST

  A DESPERATE ADVENTURE

  CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND

  FRIENDS IN NEED

  CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD

  THE HOME-COMING

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "THE GIRLS LOOKED DOWN WITH A SORT OF AWED CURIOSITY" (see page 224) . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  "LYING ON A PILE OF CANVAS HUDDLED A LITTLE FIGURE"

  "THE THREE TOGETHER DRAGGED THE BOAT UP THE BEACH"

  "'THERE!' SHE CRIED TRIUMPHANTLY, YET FEARFULLY"

  "WITH A FINAL PULL THEY HAULED TOMMY OVER THE BRINK"

  "SHE FELT THAT FANGATI COULD NOT REACH HER IN TIME"

  CHAPTER I

  TOMMY AND THE OTHERS

  At noon on a day late in September, the express train from Londonrested, panting and impatient, for a brief halt at the littlecountryside station of Poppicombe. The arrival and departure of thistrain was the event of the day to most of the inhabitants, not only ofPoppicombe, but of the surrounding villages. There were quitehalf-a-dozen people standing on the platform, and the station staff,consisting of two men and a boy, were moving about briskly. One manwas busily engaged in handing various newspapers and packages, whichhad been thrown from the guard's van, to the people who had beenawaiting them; the other man, the stationmaster, was exchanging a fewwords with the guard, at the end of the platform; while the boy porter,looking about disconsolately for some doors to bang, distinguishedhimself by suddenly slamming the open door of the luggage van, much tothe astonishment of the guard. As soon as the train had rumbled away,the young porter seized a newspaper from a pile standing on a trolly,opened it at a particular page, and, after reading a few words, letforth a wild war-whoop. Then, in spite of the glare in thestationmaster's eye, he rushed madly out of the station and lookedexcitedly up Longhill Avenue. There in the distance he saw, comingslowly towards the station, a young girl of twelve or thirteen years ofage, seated upon a sturdy Exmoor pony. Although she sat her mount withthe ease that comes only to the born rider, a close observer would havenoticed that the slight droop about her slim young shoulders becamemore pronounced as she neared her destination. She was dressed inblack, and her plain wide-brimmed sailor hat was trimmed only with anarrow band of crape.

  She rode forward with an eye that seemed to ignore all outward objects,her thin, small-featured face betokening a mood of deep despondency.Her errand had been the same for many days, and day after day she hadmet with nothing but disappointment. A few weeks ago she had taken thejourney at a canter. Now, in spite of her natural high spirits, Tommy,as she was called by her family and friends, held the reins in such alistless fashion that the pony merely sauntered through the Avenue, asthough he too shared her depression. Her lack of vigour was perhapsthe more noticeable because her thin, wiry body looked framed forenergy. There was an unmistakable air of health about the younggirlish figure, but Tommy, although she was quite unconscious of it,was suffering from fatigue of the spirit. She had borne up bravelyenough at first, but successive daily disappointments had at lengthproved too much for her.

  Now Longhill Avenue does not belie its name. It has a hill, and thehill is long and gently sloping, with rows of tall chestnut-trees oneither side. When Tommy had reached the foot of the hill, she suddenlybecame aware that some one was shouting lustily. She started, andlooking up quickly, saw a quaint little figure, dressed in corduroys,with a peaked cap much too large for him, wildly waving a paper, andrushing towards her from the station yard as fast as hobnailed bootsallowed. She touched up her pony and was soon within hail of thefreckled, rosy-cheeked young porter, whose face was spread abroad withsmiles.

  "It's all right, miss, her be sound as bacon," he gasped breathlessly."See then!" he added, and as Tommy came nearer to him he pointed with agrimy thumb to the Shipping Intelligence column of the newspaper whichhe had snatched from the pile at the station.

  Tommy took the paper, and, scanning the paragraph eagerly, read: "Thebarque Elizabeth, thirty days overdue from Valparaiso, spoken by theliner Kildonan Castle, in the Bay of Biscay; all well."

  As she read these few lines, the whole expression of Tommy's facechanged. Her dark eyes brightened; a wave of gladness seemed to surgethrough her as she drew herself erect in the saddle. The smile aboutthe corners of her rather wide but sweet-looking mouth deepened, andeven her hair, which had appeared dispirited a few moments ago, nowcurled itself more tightly about her small dainty head.

  "Ah! won't they be glad!" she ejaculated in her clear, brisk voice."Dan, you're a cherub," she cried, "a perfect cherub; you are indeed,Dan;" and, turning her pony about, was off like the wind.

  Dan Whiddon watched her admiringly.

  "Her do be mortal pleased," he said to himself, "and her naming me'cherub' be her way o' saying 'thankee,' I reckon. 'Cherub,' says she.Now what will old Berry be calling I?"

  He clumped heavily back to the station.

  "Now, you young stunpoll," cried the stationmaster sternly, "what do'ee mean by rampaging off like that?"

  "Miss Tommy's uncle bean't a dead 'un arter all, I reckon," said theboy. "His ship be behind time, that's all, and he'll be comingdown-along soon."

  Dan's reply was not a particularly lucid one, but as anybody's businesswas everybody's business in Poppicombe, the station-master had nodifficulty in understanding the youth. He warned Dan of the evileffects of not minding one's own business, and crossing the line,entered into a long discussion with his ticket-clerk concerning MissTommy and her private affairs.

  Meanwhile Tommy was galloping at breakneck speed the four miles whichled to her home. About a quarter of a mile from Plum-Tree Farm, wherethe Westmacott family, T
ommy's people, had lived for generations, sheespied her sisters standing at the gate leading into the paddock. Theyhad heard the sound of the quick tramp of the pony's hoofs in thedistance, and had rushed out to see why Tommy on this particular daywas riding so furiously. On catching sight of them she repeated, inher own inimitable way, Dan's method of breaking the good news. Sheyelled at the top of her voice, and waved the newspaper high above herhead. So excited was she that she almost threw the newspaper at herelder sister, and it dropped in a puddle formed by the recent rains.Tommy was off the saddle in a moment, and leaving the pony to find hisway to the stable, she picked up the fallen paper, and wiping the dirtfrom it with her pocket-handkerchief, gave it triumphantly to her tall,dark, handsome sister Elizabeth, whilst Mary, the second girl, drawingnearer to Elizabeth's side, stood quietly waiting.

  The three girls bore a certain family likeness to each other, but thedifferences were almost equally striking. The two eldest were tall andslim, and had the same dark-coloured eyes, but there the resemblanceceased. In character they were as far apart as the poles. Elizabeth,called after her mother, who had died when Tommy was only a few monthsold, was a capable girl of nineteen years of age, with a magnificenthead of rich dark hair, and deep-blue eyes. Her manner was grave andquiet. She had been a mother to the two younger girls ever since shecould remember, and responsibility had made her old for her years. Herfather, too, had made her his constant companion, and she had been hisright hand in managing the farm and keeping the accounts during theyears that had preceded his death a few months before. Mary, thesecond girl, who had just turned fifteen, was as fair as Elizabeth wasdark, but with the same deep-coloured starry eyes. She was the moststudious of the three, and it was always a great delight to Tommy, whenshe found her lost in some book of travel or adventure, to awaken herfrom her dreams by forming a mouthpiece with her hands and shouting inpoor Mary's ear, "Hallo! are you there?" But Tommy's winning smilealways disarmed Mary's wrath, and, in spite of constant smalldisagreements, the two were excellent friends.

  The youngest girl, Katherine, our friend Tommy, was thin and wiry inbuild, somewhat short for her years, with small black twinkling eyes,and a little head running over with golden curls. Her chiefcharacteristic so far was an endless capacity for getting into scrapes.A demon of mischief always seemed lurking in the twinkling depths ofher merry eyes. Just now they danced with excitement, as she said:"Well, of all the cool customers you must be the coolest, Mary, tostand there waiting, and never to change a hair, or look over the paperin Elizabeth's hand, or anything. Oh dear! Oh dear! what can you bemade of? Dear old Uncle Ben is coming home, coming home, coming home!"and catching Mary by the waist, she sang, "Waltz me round, Mary, waltzme round," and twirled her sister round and round until she wascompletely out of breath.

  "Do make her stop it, Bess," besought Mary gaspingly.

  "Tommy darling, do try to be a bit sensible," said Elizabeth, with asmile.

  "Not I!" said Tommy, "why should be sensible?" as she gave Mary'spigtail a tug.

  Elizabeth, recognizing Tommy's mood, and fearing there would be"ructions" presently, tactfully put her arm about her gay-hearted,mischievous small sister, and led the way indoors.

  This was not the first time by any means that Elizabeth had acted aspeacemaker in the Westmacott family. When she was quite a child, andTommy a mere baby, she had often been called by Mrs. Pratt, thehousekeeper, to see if she could induce "that plaguy young limb" tobehave herself. Later on, Elizabeth had, times without number, pleadedwith her father not to be so angry, or quite so severe, with hisyoungest girl, however trying the child might be; and Mr. Westmacott,seeing that Elizabeth thoroughly understood "the imp of mischief," ashe called her the day he had been obliged to summon all hands on thefarm to rescue her and her pony from a bog, left her more and more tohis eldest daughter's care. Then when Tommy was old enough toaccompany her sisters to "lessons" at the Vicarage, again Elizabeth hadto pour oil on troubled waters, for the vicar, an old friend of herfather's, who had undertaken the education of the three girls, andwhose word had hitherto been taken as law, often became very irritablewhen Tommy would argue instead of accepting facts. As Tommy increasedin stature, she became, under Elizabeth's wise guidance, more and moreamenable to reason, but she never lost her absolute fearlessness andindependence.

  All the girls had been encouraged by their father to live an open-airlife, and Tommy always led the way instinctively whenever they wentriding, driving, rowing and fishing. The farmhouse was the old manorhouse. The huge kitchen, with its deep-seated fireplace andlow-raftered oak-beamed ceiling, was now used as a living-room. It hadthree deep bay windows, each looking across the flower garden on to themoors. The breath of autumn was in the air, but the hollyhocks andgladioli still flaunted their gay colours, as though they refused toown that summer had ended. The garden was Elizabeth's special pride;she loved to keep it an old-fashioned, old-world garden, and hadherself planted sweet peas and stocks, and the spiked gillyflower,amongst the lavender bushes and the oleanders. In fact, after herfather's death, when Elizabeth had found that his assets were really"nil," owing to a succession of bad crops and the cattle-diseasespreading so rapidly among the kine, she had had serious thoughts oftrying to take up gardening as a profession, but on talking it overwith her sisters they agreed that it would be better to wait until thereturn of their uncle.

  Captain Barton was their mother's only brother. He was a deep-seacaptain, and at the time of his brother-in-law's death he was sailingin mid-Pacific. But at the first port the vessel had touched, he hadreceived a letter from his eldest niece, telling him the sad news, andhow things were with them, and asking him to come to them as soon as hecould. He had answered the letter at once, and in his reply had donehis best to hearten them. He had advised Elizabeth to see thelandlord, place the facts before him, and ask him if he would allow therent to be in abeyance until her uncle arrived. The landlord hadconsented, knowing the family so well, and so one great worry had for atime been taken off Elizabeth's young shoulders. She was not obligedto remove at once, but they all knew that it was impossible to keep onthe farm, even had it been paying, and several evenings were passed bythe three girls in wondering what they could do so as not to be aburden upon their uncle. Mary had spoken of teaching, but there wouldbe no money to pay for the necessary training, so that idea had to begiven up. Tommy had a new idea about every other day as to what she'ddo in order to make the family fortune. One day she burnt three of thesaucepans, scalded herself rather badly, and made everything around her"sticky," by trying to invent a new kind of jam. Another day sheconcocted the Westmacott Cure for sick headache, and insisted upon hersisters tasting the "awful mixture," which she assured them washarmless, and was quite annoyed when Elizabeth and Mary advised her notto invent anything else for a few years.

  So the days went on, the girls busying themselves about the farm andlonging eagerly for the return of the only relation they had in theworld. Captain Barton had given them the probable date of his arrivalat Plymouth, but when the expected day came and passed without anyfurther news from him, they had all become more and more anxious andalarmed, wondering if his vessel had gone down with all hands and leftno trace of her whereabouts. Hence Tommy's excitement and delight, andElizabeth and Mary's quiet joy, on hearing that their uncle was comingto them at last.

  CHAPTER II

  UNCLE BEN

  During the next three days the girls were restless with excitement.Uncle Ben would, they were sure, send them a telegram as soon as hereached Plymouth, and one or another of them was constantly on thelook-out for the messenger from the little village postoffice. Theyturned out the spare bedroom, and had a grand clean-up; hung freshcurtains, aired mattress and bedclothes, and made things shipshape, ashe would say, in anticipation of Uncle Ben's arrival. On the third daythe girl at the post-office rode up on her bicycle with the littlebrown envelope. Tommy flew to meet her, and in another moment wasrunning back to the house crying, "Co
ming to-morrow! To-morrow!" atthe top of her voice.

  Of course they drove down to the station next day fully an hour beforethe train was due. Tommy beguiled the time by weighing her sisters andherself on the station weighing-machine, looked in at thebooking-office, ran to the signal-box and asked to be allowed to workthe levers, and in other ways acted up to her reputation.

  At last the train was signalled. The three girls looked eagerly downthe line. Presently the engine rounded the curve nearly half-a-mileaway, and as the train rumbled along the straight line towards thestation, a red bandana handkerchief was seen vigorously waving at thewindow of a compartment in the centre.

  "There he is!" cried Tommy, dancing with excitement, and waving herhandkerchief in return.

  "Stand back, miss," called the station-master, as she stepped near theedge of the platform.

  "Oh, I shan't hurt your old engine," replied Tommy, who, nevertheless,allowed her sisters to take a hand each until the train came to astandstill. Then she darted towards the compartment from which issueda short, stoutish man, with a jolly, red face, short, close-trimmedbeard, and eyes ready to light up with fun at the slightest provocation.

  Captain Benjamin Barton was a sailor of the good old-fashioned sort.He had been to sea ever since he was thirteen, when he had run away toPlymouth after an exchange of discourtesies with the classical masterat the Grammar School: he never could abide Latin. During nearly fiftyyears of life at sea he had saved a considerable sum, and had becomepart owner of his vessel, besides having shares in several others. Hestill loyally stuck to the sailing ship; the steamship had noattractions for him; and he was never tired of comparing the two, tothe great disadvantage of the more modern type. Tommy once said thathe reminded her of the 'bus-driver behind whom she had sat when on heronly visit to London, who had spoken with the bitterest scorn of themotor omnibus. The captain's twinkling black eyes gleamed with funwhen Tommy assured him artlessly that the 'busman was "just such a dearold stick-in-the-mud" as he was. Tommy sprang into his arms as he gotout of the railway carriage. He gradually extricated himself from herembrace, and turning to his elder nieces, silently kissed them. Inspite of a brave attempt at cheerfulness his eyes were rather dim as hemumbled a word of greeting. He had always been on the best of termswith their father, and, when he was ashore, had been accustomed to makethe farm his headquarters. The loss of his brother-in-law had come asa great shock to him; and the remembrance of it, together with themeeting with the three fatherless girls, almost unmanned him for themoment. The red bandana handkerchief came into play again; he blew hisnose furiously, declared that railway travelling always gave him acold, and turning on Dan Whiddon, the small porter, who was staggeringunder a trunk he had taken from the compartment, he cried--